


Thorn In My Side

by Webhoard



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Cussing, F/M, Fluff, Happy Ending, Modern AU, id I do smut i'll tag it and make an alternate non-smut version of that chapter, maybe smut later?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 23:35:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15806835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Webhoard/pseuds/Webhoard
Summary: Modern AU. When your eccentric boss ups the stakes for your office’s annual Stark Industries Memorial Celebrity Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever Awareness Pro-Am Fun Run Race for the Cure you actually go to your company’s gym for the first time and get yourself a personal trainer. Too bad you hate that he makes you do pushups as much as you love those dumb soulful eyes of his.





	Thorn In My Side

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for @after-avenging-hour's [August AU Writing Challenge](http://after-avenging-hours.tumblr.com/tagged/augustauwritingchallenge/). Thanks so much for the opportunity to finally write this fic I’ve had bouncing around my head!
> 
> Ok, full disclosure: I adore working out. BUT, I know that’s not very #Relatable, so I’ve decided to make our Reader a bit more averse to gyms. Also this is set at the Upstate NY Avengers compound, which I arbitrarily put near a town called Saranac Lake in the Adirondacks. This is what happens when you obsessively study Google maps and Chamber of Commerce sites at 3:00am.

**S.H.I.E.L.D.**  


The letters gleamed in a bold, bright red that made your head hurt even worse than before. 

“Jeez, that guy really like acronyms,” you muttered, still standing in front of the building on the edge of the large corporate campus.

The Stark-Industries Health Initiative, Ergonomics, and Lifestyle Development Center, or SHIELD Center for short, seemed as daunting as it was inviting. Bright colors, to your surprise, meshed seamlessly with the sleek modern architecture of the rest of the campus. You supposed that the architects behind this design of the gym must have been aiming for a playground-for-adults kind of feel. 

So maybe it was daunting to just you. It’s not like you couldn’t think of several other places you would rather have been: a prison bathroom, a landfill, the bottom of the ocean, getting a cavity search by the TSA. Or maybe it was just your headache and athletic aversion that were making all this seem worse than it actually was.

Giving yourself one last moment of despair, you sucked in a breath of determined resignation, swallowed back your pride, and pushed on the door handle, striding inside with a confidant façade that you hoped was more convincing to others than it was to yourself.

As you waited at the front desk to speak with the harried receptionist—a young blond guy with about fifteen bandaids on his nose, arms, and face—you mused on the reason for your being there in the first. You being at a gym seemed as ludicrous as the situation that got you there to begin with itself, which had all begun the previous morning when your boss had made his annual announcement, the one that had always brought out your inner grinch.

* * *

_Wednesday, August 1_

It wasn’t uncommon that your department, Biomechanics and Prosthetics Research and Development, was visited by the man himself, Mr. Tony Stark, second in command of Stark Industries and the public face of the company—the CEO and top dog of course being his partner Pepper Potts. Nonetheless, a visit from Tony was something that always got everyone’s attention.

So when he strode onto your floor that morning as he did each year, followed closely by Ms. Potts and their assistant, Happy Hogan, you had a decent idea what the occasion was, and so did everyone else.

“Fucking shit,” you groaned, leaning around your computer screen to level your deskmate, Rhodey, with a long suffering sigh, “Is this what I think it is?”

He returned your grimace with a sarcastic smile that you could have sworn hid a touch of schadenfreude, “Oh yeah. Get ready, Y/N.”

Before you could retort or even process the friendly threat, Tony’s voice called out over the floor, “As you know, fall is upon us, which means that in just a few months, we will be hosting the Saranac Lake’s yearly Autumn Harvest Festival. And of course, we all know which company-wide event coincides with the festival, don’t we?” He beamed across the floor, his eyes settling momentarily on Rhodey, whom you knew was close to the boss.

“That’s right! It’s finally time to start training for the annual Stark Industries Memorial Celebrity Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever Awareness Pro-Am Fun Run Race for the Cure 5K.”

You couldn’t be sure, but you thought you could see Rhodey biting back a laugh. The name was beyond ridiculous, and a part of you sometimes wondered if Tony had lost a bet to Rhodey or some such thing and that’s how he got stuck with the name. That, or Rhodey was just laughing about how easily he was going to win the race this year, as always.

You might have shared some of Rhodey’s amusement at the ridiculous name were it not for that yearly sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. You would have once again don your ‘running shoes’ and pretend to care about fun runs, tick-borne diseases, and the sense of community that Stark Industries strove to achieve with the town for the day. A whole day. A Saturday. Damn, being salaried sucked sometimes.

“This year the Fun Run and the festival will be on Saturday, November the third, so mark your calendars and get training!” You wondered if his smile and pep held a touch of ironic amusement at the underwhelming response from the office. His next words more or less confirmed that suspicion.

“Now, I’m not some out of touch exec. I know that many of you would rather not spend your Saturday morning running around a track, no matter how scenic the route,” he gestured to the tall floor-length windows on the far wall that boasted an impressive view of the Adirondacks. “So this year, with the blessing of our CEO, Ms. Potts, I have decided to give you a better incentive to participate.” 

He paused not only for dramatic effect, but also to look around the room at each employee in the department, “The first place runner will receive a full week’s paid vacation to the destination of their choice plus a $1000 bonus at the end of the fiscal quarter.”

There was a palpable change in the attitude of everyone on the floor. It almost reminded you of a school of hammerheads that had suddenly detected blood in the water, a feverish and predatory charge.

“Second place,” Tony continued, “will receive a $1000 bonus at the end of the quarter, and third place will take home a $500 gift certificate to the store of their choice. All tax free, of course.”

A hum of energy buzzed through the desks as if the school of hammerheads had, in fact, stumbled upon a whole whale carcass floating in the distance.

“I want each of you to enjoy the good natured spirit of competition as well as the health benefits of moderate exercise,” he clasped his hands and rubbed them with a smirk, almost as if he knew he were chumming the waters, “And now hopefully with this added incentive, you will. All details concerning the race, the festival, and the apple-picking can be found in the company wide email that will be going around later this afternoon.”

After a few more platitudes, Tony, Ms. Potts, and Hogan stepped into the elevator, presumably to make the same announcement in the remaining departments.

You chanced a sideways glance at Rhodey and immediately regretted it.

His smirk was broad and his eyes squinted, “Well, I guess I can send you a postcard from Hawaii. Hell, maybe I’ll even bring back a couple seashells for you.” 

You closed your eyes with a grimace as he continued, leaning his wheelchair back so that he was smugly balanced on the rear wheels, “Or maybe a beach vacation is too cliché. Maybe I should go on a tour of the Scotch distilleries in the Scottish Highlands or spend Christmas somewhere in the Australian Outback to escape the New York winter for a week. Whaddya think, Y/N?”

You smiled at him challengingly, “Well maybe I’ll win? You never know.”

Rhodey flared his nostrils, clearly unimpressed with your threat, “Seriously, when’s the last time you’ve done anything remotely active? And walking Mandrake doesn’t count,” he added, seeing that you were preparing a response.

“What? Whatever. How hard can running three miles be? It’s not like it’s a marathon or something,” you scowled petulantly. “Besides, I don’t think it’s fair for you to compete in the race. That fucking racing chair you’ve got has twenty-one gears like a fucking mountain bike,” you grumbled defensively.

Rhodey arched a brow, “Let me get this straight. You’re saying that because I’m paralyzed from the waist-down that I have an unfair advantage in the race?”

You flapped your mouth open a few times, “Well no— That’s not— I— Oh, fuck off.”

He reared his head back with a laugh, having won this verbal battle.

“Oh go on and laugh it up all you want. But you’ll never beat that new guy, Pietro,” you threw your thumb over your shoulder toward his desk, “I heard he once bested Usain Bolt at an Olympic qualifier.”

Rhodey’s face fell slightly as a glint of worry came into his eyes as they flitted over Pietro’s form in front of the copier, marring his otherwise skeptical façade.

“That can’t be true. Where’d you hear that?”

You lowered your voice, looking back at Pietro, “Hill told me. Who else?” You lowered your voice, afraid that Pietro might somehow hear you from across the floor, “She said the only reason he couldn’t compete was because of his criminal record. Something about espionage and fraternizing with agents from the Kremlin.” 

You looked back at Rhodey, and seeing his genuine concern more at having a true competitor in the race rather than at having a shady would-be criminal/spy in the ranks, you laughed, “Enjoy your $500 gift card to Costco.”

He smirked, “Pshh, whatever. Do you know how much potato salad that could buy me? Besides, I’m not the one who needs to worry.” He gestured at you.

You couldn’t deny the truth of his statement even as you gave him an indignant glare.

“Rhodes, Y/LN,” your supervisor, Helen called out as she made her way to her office. “Less chit chat and more work, yes?” 

You both whipped around to face your computer screens.

“Fine, to be continued,” you whispered as soon as Helen was out of earshot. “Treff’s Tavern for happy hour?” 

“It’s a date,” Rhodey winked.

“Oh fuck off, you flirt,” you grinned back.

* * *

“Well what would you suggest then?” You groaned into your third drink of the evening.

Rhodey laughed loudly over the din of the smoky bar, “You know we have an employee gym, right? You know that there’s no monthly fee for Stark employees and their families, right?”

You glowered at the idea of going to a gym.

“Look,” he held his hands out calmingly, “With a free membership, it’s pretty easy to afford a personal trainer. Go in, get a trainer, and actually stand a chance in this thing. I’ve been working with Bucky since I started here. How do you think I keep in such good shape?”

“I always just assumed that Stark gave you some kind of miracle steroids or something,” you called over the music, only half joking.

“Hah. Hah. Tony’s my friend, but even he’s not gonna use me as a guinea pig for the shit he and Banner cook up in the labs. No, I keep in shape because Bucky rides my ass when I miss training sessions,” he smiled into his beer, “Nothing like an ex-Army Sergeant to keep my ass in line.”

You frowned, “But weren’t you a Colonel? I mean, don’t you outrank him?” Even though Stark Industries had one of the highest rates of veteran employment in the country, you still got the ranks confused all the time, and the alcohol was certainly not aiding your mental faculties.

“Yeah, but he’s still got more experience than me in bossing soldiers around,” he shook his head impatiently. “The point is, Y/N,” he clapped his hand over your shoulder, “If you want to even make third place and get that gift card, you’re going to have do something besides walking Mandrake around the nature trails behind your condo. Go to the gym, and get a trainer.”

You threw your head back impatiently, “Ugh, fine. If I agree to go to the gym, can we please talk about literally anything else?”

Rhodey smirked as he motioned to the bartender for another round, which she promptly brought over to your table, “You got it. So, how’s your dating life been?”

Your groan deepened, “Why are we even friends?”

He laughed and passed you your shot, “Drink up, not-friend.”

* * *

And that was how you found yourself walking across the SI campus toward the SHEILD Center at five o’clock rather than to your car and home. Standing in lobby, wearing a ratty set of ‘exercise clothes’ that you’d had stuffed into a canvas grocery bag for lack of gym bag, you waited patiently for the trainer who would be giving you your free introductory fitness consultation and setting you up with a permanent trainer. All you could think of was how nice it would be to be halfway home by now, halfway to snuggling with your dog, Mandrake, and taking a slow stroll down to the lake with him before dinner.

“Y/N?” A man’s voice called from beside you.

“Yeah?” You looked up and felt your eyes widen at the sight. He was tall, blond, decidedly muscled, and had a jawline that looked like it had been carved out of marble. Goddammit. Of course everyone who worked here was going to look like a damn movie star.

“Hi, I’m Steve,” he smiled warmly and held out his hand to shake yours, “I’ll be showing you around the gym today and getting you set up with a trainer based on your fitness needs.”

You bit back the nervous laugh you want to let out in the presence of this stupidly handsome man, “Sounds terrific, Steve.” Okay, that might have actually just sounded sarcastic, but he either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

After a brief walk-through of the gym and its amenities, which ranged from a natatorium to cardio studios and several sports courts, you settled in front of Steve’s desk in his office tucked to the side of the free weights area.

“Okay, so what would say are your fitness goals, Y/N?” Steve asked, already making notes in his tablet.

Well, there was no use in lying, “Steve, you seem like a nice guy, so I’ll be frank. I hate working out and sweating and being active. In fact, I’ve been nursing a hangover all day because I went drinking last night with the very person who recommended this place to me,” Steve merely listened with amused interest, “I just want to win that vacation and quarterly bonus at the Pro-Am Race for the Cure Blah Blah Blah and be done with it. That’s my fitness goal. To win a vacation where I can pack on a at least ten pounds eating at lavish restaurants and bars.”

Steve smiled as he typed in a few more notes, “Anything else? Not that you need any other goals, that is,” he added, his smile seeming to waver self-consciously.

You almost smirked at that brief show of timidity that contrasted sharply with his bulky frame. Instead you just shrugged your shoulders, “Well my friend says he really likes working with one of your trainers, Bucky, I think was the name? So, maybe I could get sessions with him?”

Steve pressed his lips together apologetically, “Ah, well, I’m sorry to say that Bucky works exclusively with vets. But,” he added hurriedly, seeing your face fall somewhat, “We have another wonderful trainer whom I think would be a great fit for you. He’s also a veteran, but running is what he does best, and that’s what you’re wanting help with.”

You chewed your lip for a moment. There had been something comfortable about the idea of Bucky because of how highly Rhodey had spoken of him, but in truth, you didn’t know this Bucky any better than you did the trainer Steve had in mind, “Okay, I’m game.”

Steve beamed, “Great. Sam has an opening this evening actually, at 6:00 if you want to go ahead and get started today? That should give us plenty of time to get your payments and scheduling taken care of.”

You bit back any number of sarcastic responses, “No time like the present, I suppose.”

Twenty minutes later and your bank account a good $300 lighter, you found yourself being escorted down a hall and into a small private training room with mirrors along one wall and an assortment of exercise equipment stacked neatly along another.

“Sam’s just finishing up with his current client,” Steve said, “So he’ll be in here any minute now. Feel free to get acquainted with some of the equipment while you wait.”

You managed a genuine smile, grateful for Steve’s patient kindness this last hour, “You got it, Steve. Thanks for all your help.”

“Anytime, Y/N,” he beamed, before leaving you to stand awkwardly in the training room. 

You pulled out your phone from your purse, took a quick selfie of you frowning exaggeratedly in front of the cardio equipment, and tapped out a message to Rhodey to pass the time.

> **You:** There, ya smug bastard. Happy now? Imma get swol.

However, before you could even wait for a response, the sound of the training room door had you scrambling to put your phone away like a high school student who’d been caught texting in class.

When you turned around, you bit back a groan. How the fuck were supposed to train with someone like that? He was wearing a pair of loose gym shorts with a t-shirt that stretched a bit too tightly across his chest. His dark, almost black eyes beamed warmly at you, cutting through the sterile fluorescent lighting. His skin, even at a distance, looked smooth and buttery, and his smile…Yeah, this place really did hire Tens.

He grinned widely at you, “Hi there, you must be Y/N.” He reached out to shake your hand as you lamely nodded, unable to find your voice or fearful that it might squeak if you did.

“I’m Sam.” He was still smiling at you in an inviting way, perhaps thinking you were shy or something, “Steve tells me you want to work on cardio.”

You cleared your throat and willed something intelligible to come out. “Ah, in a manner of speaking, yes, but mostly just running.” You looked away shyly as Sam’s eyes swept over you with not a critical, but maybe a clinical gaze.

He gave you a polite smile that said he was humoring you, “Oh don’t you worry. There will be plenty of running, but in order to be a strong runner, you’re going need strong legs, and more importantly, a strong core.”

You weren’t sure you liked where he was going with this, “Yeah, okay.” You began hesitantly, nodding your head more of nerves than agreement, “But really, I just want a shot at one of the Fun Run prizes.”

Sam chuckled lightly, “Don’t worry, we’ll give our best shot, okay? But I’ll be up front with you, most of what we’ll be doing during our sessions will not involve running. You’re paying me to get you into shape and show you exercise routines, not watch you run around a track for thirty minutes.”

He paused and gave you another one of those humoring grins that you knew should have irritated you, but for some reason didn’t. “You’ll see more gains in your running if we strengthen the rest of your body alongside running. So: core and leg workouts while we’re together and then running on your own time.”

He must have sensed a glazed look in your eyes or something akin to listlessness because he then added, “But let’s not worry about that just yet. First let’s start with your physical history and talk a little about nutrition. Sound good?”

You nodded dully.

To be honest, the only reason you were even halfway paying attention to his discussions of lean proteins and low carb meals was because of how painfully handsome he was—you didn’t have the will to look away or space out. And so, after fifteen minutes of describing past injuries, your complete lack of fitness, and admitting that, yes, you shamelessly indulged in frequent trips to Carter’s Country Café for their famous fruit pies and waffles, you were beginning to wonder if you’d ever actually get moving and doing _something_ besides talking. 

You would later come to regret that train of thought.

When Sam had said you’d start off easy with bodyweight exercises, you’d thought it sounded like a piece of cake. But now finishing up your third and final set of squats, [plank knee taps](http://bountifulwellgroup.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/PLANK-KNEE-TAP.gif), and [side steps](https://static1.squarespace.com/static/5822736cf7e0ab9a6a22c144/t/582399278419c2fcb1171800/1478727988902/) with a resistance band, you were ready to tap out. Your face was unbelievably hot, sweat was leaking out of every pore on your body, and your mouth and throat felt dry and cottony.

But this was not Sam’s first rodeo.

He gave you a good natured chuckle, that you were sure he’d meant to be encouraging, “Alright, how about we pause for about a minute to drink some water before we do a quick ab workout and cooldown, okay?”

“Yeah, perfect,” you all but gasped out as you waddled over to where you’d stashed your water bottle, your thighs and hips feeling oddly jelly-like.

You stole a furtive look at your phone while you gulped down your water, smiling and shaking your head at Rhodey’s response to your text.

> **Rodanthe:** Get it girl ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

Sam flashed you a politely inquisitive look as you set your phone and water down, still chuckling to yourself, your heart rate finally leveling out some.

You waved your hand dismissively, “Oh, it’s just my friend checking in on my progress today. He’s the only reason I’m even here. Works with your trainer, Bucky, all the time, the jackass.”

Sam smiled and said somewhat sarcastically, “I can tell you love each other deeply.”

“Actually, at the moment, I’m sure who I loathe more, Rhodey for talking me into this, or you for making me do those squats,” you teased, following his example and sitting down on the yoga mat he laid out for you. 

You were about to make a joke about how Rhodey and Bucky were probably well matched because of their equally silly nicknames, but when you looked up, you could clearly see that Sam’s easygoing expression had faltered and grown a little tense. What was that about? Was it something you said? You were pretty sure you hadn’t put your foot in your mouth.

As he walked you through the three ab exercises for this workout, his mood was subdued and his words of encouragement seemed more forced. You might have been more perplexed about this sudden change in the air were it not for the burning in your stomach as you puffed your way through the [leg raises](https://d24bnpykhxwj9p.cloudfront.net/s3file/s3fs-public/users1/2017-04/Wed/leg%20raise.gif), crunches, and [lower body twists](https://s3-us-west-2.amazonaws.com/beachbody-blog/uploads/2017/10/Spinal_twist1.gif).

But when you were finally relaxing at the end of the workout as you stretched your legs, arms, and core, you were miffed. Surely you hadn’t said something mean or dumb. Maybe he had been offended by your joke about loathing him for putting you through all these exercises?

But before you could continue down that train of thought any more, Sam was calling it for the day. And even though his smile looked forced, you could tell he was trying to play it cool. So, you just let it go.

“Alright, now I know it will be tempting, but I’d advise against any alcohol tonight. It’ll just dehydrate you and make tomorrow morning that much worse,” he began, doing his best to impart a light tone, “Tomorrow, take a day of rest. Then on Saturday, I want you to come in for a light workout on the treadmill. You can run some if you want, but if your heart rate starts getting higher than the target zone we talked about, slow down or walk. And be sure to stretch thoroughly afterwards.”

You tried smiling at him, as if his plan sounded good to you, but the effect was ruined by your pinched brows and look of horror in your eyes. “Yeah, man, all of that sounds really fun.”

He snorted, shaking his head, his tense expression lightening a little, “Now that’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one.”

You shrugged your shoulders and flashed him a guilty smile, hoping that you might be able to lighten the mood a little more.

“Now,” he said, slipping back into his trainer mode, “Be sure to drink plenty of water tonight, and let’s schedule our next appointment for Monday if that works.”

You bit back a groan. That seemed pretty soon for a repeat of today. But instead, you took a deep breath and sighed, “I don’t suppose you have an opening at five, do you?”

Sam pulled out his phone, just hint of strain still visible in his jaw, “I’m punching into my calendar right now.”

You picked up your phone and did likewise. 

“Now, speaking of phones,” he said, “I’m going to give you my phone number. You can text me with any questions or concerns about your training and progress or if you need to cancel or reschedule an appointment.”

After you and he exchanged numbers, he joked, “Just don’t drunk dial me if you go out for happy hour or whatever.”

You smirked, “That happen often?”

He shot you a weary look, “You’d be surprised.”

“Well, I’ll do my best.”

You were still pondering what could have caused his odd change in behavior as you gingerly walked out of the gym and to your car, your legs and stomach alternating between numbness and throbbing. 

As you cranked the AC up, your phone buzzed with a text. It was from Sam. Your heart fluttered for a brief second, the traitor.

> **Sam, SHEILD:** Great job today. See you Sunday at 11:00. 

It was just an appointment confirmation, but damn if didn’t make you think back to his bright smile for a moment, and how it had inexplicably disappeared so suddenly. He must have just been tired out after a long day. Lord knows you were.

And as you let your mind wander back to his firm arms that had threatened to fray the seams of his t-shirt, you didn’t know what was going to be harder: keeping up with the exercises or keeping it in your pants.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot believe I am starting a third WIP, but here I am. I’ll be honest, I’ve only got a rough idea of where I’m going with this one, so I have NO CLUE how long or short this series will be. I do know that there will be angst, of course, but always with a happy ending, OF COURSE.
> 
> Thanks again to @after-avenging-hours, for setting up this writing challenge, and be sure to go check out all the other entries!


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